By Our Reporter
A debate that began with black sunglasses has opened a larger and more uncomfortable question about the state of Nepal’s Parliament: are elected representatives beginning to treat the country’s highest democratic forum with less seriousness than it demands?
The immediate controversy centres on Prime Minister Balendra Shah and the growing use of black sunglasses inside Parliament. The Business Advisory Committee of the House of Representatives has now reached a verbal understanding that lawmakers should not wear black sunglasses during parliamentary sittings. Party chief whips have agreed to alert their members. The discussion has gone further, covering bright red hair, jeans, slippers, coats draped over shoulders, flashy appearances and other behaviour considered inconsistent with parliamentary decorum.
The Speaker’s concern is not limited to clothing. Lawmakers have also been told not to engage in share trading on their mobile phones while the House is in session. Existing rules already prohibit phone calls, photography and audio or video recording inside the chamber. Members cannot turn their backs towards the Speaker’s chair or cross the chamber while the Speaker is addressing the House. They are also barred from using abusive, obscene, insulting or discriminatory language.
In other words, Nepal’s Parliament does not lack rules. What appears to be lacking is a consistent culture of following them.
That distinction matters. It is easy to dismiss the debate over sunglasses as trivial when the country faces far more serious problems. Parliament should be debating unemployment, economic stagnation, weak public services and questions of governance, not the colour of a lawmaker’s glasses or hair. Yet the controversy cannot be dismissed entirely because it reflects a broader problem: the gradual blurring of the line between individual expression and institutional responsibility.
Black sunglasses are not objectionable by themselves. They are useful in sunlight, while driving and in many outdoor settings. But wearing them inside a closed parliamentary chamber naturally raises questions about purpose. If they serve no practical need, the choice begins to look like a fashion statement or an attempt to project a particular political image.
That is where the symbolism becomes important. Lawmakers are not celebrities performing for an audience. They are elected representatives who are expected to listen, respond and remain accountable. Parliament is built around argument, scrutiny and human interaction. A member’s body language, attention and engagement all form part of that process. When a representative sits behind dark glasses, particularly in a closed chamber, the public may reasonably ask whether the image being projected is one of seriousness or detachment.
The problem has become more political because the style has repeatedly been associated with Prime Minister Shah and other prominent leaders of the Rastriya Swatantra Party. What may have started as a personal preference has gradually turned into a political symbol. Opposition leaders have seized on it, using the sunglasses as a metaphor to accuse Shah of ignoring difficult questions facing his government.
Congress Whip Basana Thapa has argued that any rule must apply equally to everyone, including the prime minister and ministers. Her point is difficult to challenge. Parliament cannot create one standard for ordinary lawmakers and another for those at the top of the government. Rules that are selectively applied quickly lose their moral authority.
This is perhaps the most important lesson from the controversy. The question is not whether a black pair of sunglasses threatens democracy. It clearly does not. The real test is whether Nepal’s political leaders are prepared to submit themselves to the same standards they expect others to follow.
Speaker Dol Prasad Aryal has responded by seeking stricter enforcement of Rules 20, 21 and 22 of the House of Representatives Rules, 2083. His effort is understandable. Recent complaints have pointed to a wider pattern of declining discipline, from inappropriate language and casual behaviour to excessive use of mobile phones during proceedings. Concerns were even raised about lawmakers sitting on the edges of sofas and treating the chamber with a level of informality that would be difficult to imagine in many established legislatures.
Comparisons with Britain, India and the United States should, of course, be made carefully. Each democracy has its own traditions, dress codes and parliamentary conventions. Nepal does not need to copy another country’s style simply to appear international. Formal clothing alone does not make a Parliament more democratic, accountable or effective.
But established democracies do share one important principle: legislative institutions are expected to maintain their own dignity. Individual freedom does not mean members can ignore the basic conventions that allow an institution to function. Parliament is a political arena, but it is not a private club. Members may disagree fiercely, dress according to reasonable personal choice and express their individuality, but they still carry a responsibility to protect the standing of the institution.
Nepal’s problem, therefore, goes beyond sunglasses, red hair or informal clothing. The deeper concern is the growing tendency to confuse visibility with substance. In the age of social media, politicians increasingly understand the value of a recognisable image. A distinctive look can generate attention. A dramatic gesture can dominate headlines. A short video clip can travel farther than a serious parliamentary speech.
A lawmaker who wants to be remembered should be remembered for raising difficult questions, shaping laws, exposing failures and defending public interests, not for creating a personal image inside the chamber. When Parliament itself becomes a backdrop for political branding, the institution begins to lose ground.
That is why the current move to enforce discipline should be welcomed, but it must not stop at appearances. Banning sunglasses while ignoring absenteeism, disruption, poor attendance, mobile phone use and weak participation in serious debate would make the exercise look cosmetic. Discipline cannot be about controlling style while overlooking failures that do far greater damage to parliamentary democracy.
The rules must also apply equally. The prime minister, ministers, ruling party lawmakers and opposition members cannot be judged by different standards. Any attempt to target one party or group will only turn a question of parliamentary dignity into another round of political point scoring.
Nepal’s Parliament does not need to become a rigid institution where every personal choice is controlled. It does, however, need to decide what kind of place it wants to be. A legislature can allow individuality without celebrating indiscipline. It can remain modern without becoming careless. It can be open without becoming casual about its own responsibilities.
The black sunglasses may eventually disappear from the chamber. The larger problem will remain unless lawmakers understand what is at stake. Parliament is not a stage for personal branding, nor is it a place where political status puts anyone above the rules.
If Nepal’s elected representatives want international respect for their Parliament, they should begin with a simpler task: respect it themselves. No dress code, ruling or verbal agreement can restore dignity to an institution if those who sit inside it refuse to treat it with dignity in the first place.
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